


Thursday's Child

by Lunabell_Marauder_Knyte



Series: Thursday Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunabell_Marauder_Knyte/pseuds/Lunabell_Marauder_Knyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Castiel.I am an angel of the Lord.My duties are to serve my father's will and to guard and guide the children of Thursday.Sometimes I can help but sometimes I can only wait until it's time to take them to my fathers kingdom.I have many wards but John Watson always stood out, even as I guide his soul to heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thursday's Child

My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord. My duties are to serve my father's will and to guard and guide the children of Thursday. Sometimes I can protect them and send them on the right path and they live good lives. Sometimes too much has happened that all I can do is silently be there and give them the feeling that despite how they feel they aren't alone. Sometimes I can't even do that, but wait until it is time to take them to my father's kingdom. There have been many Thursday's and many children, but John Hamish Watson always stuck out for some reason.

John Hamish Watson is not my biological son, but like my other wards like Dean Winchester, Harry Potter, Mickey Smith, Anthony Stark, and others all around the world, I consider them my children. And really how am I different from their parents. They have all grown up and have been dealt a hand. The duties of an angel are similar to those of a parent, I realized a while ago. Sometimes the temptation is there to simply take away whatever is burdening my wards, but I cannot fall into that temptation.

Just like a parent cannot interfere with the lives of their children if they wish them to be independent and develop their own strong will. We can only be there as a guide and hope for the best. Sometimes it works. Sometimes the little push and boost of confidence works and they live their lives to the fullest and for the best of humanity.

But sometimes it's the opposite.

Sometimes we can give them the best, most accurate advice we can give them but the world will throw the impossible in their paths.

The humans have a saying that my father will not put anything in their lives that they cannot handle. I wished with everything that I am that that were true. I have not yet found my father, I do not know where he is. I have no idea if he is still doing what I remembered he did. At the moment angels and the fates are what place things in the lives of humans. And we aren't as merciful as some humans think we are.

Sometimes impossible obstacles are placed in the path of the most strong. It is a test. To see if we can help those to be born to be like those who are strong willed and kind of heart. But in order to see what is needed we need to push them beyond the limit. It's like human science. It is progress...but in the process we destroy that one strong willed person.

And John Hamish Watson was one of the strongest.

 

.:~*~:.

Time is different for an angel than it is for a human. I've lived eons. When I was first born was a  _very_  long time ago. I have sent Dean into the past before because it is within my power. It takes a lot of energy and there are limits of how long he can stay there, but that is because he is human and it is unnatural for them to time travel. As an angel it is different for me.

I can visit any point in the past that I wish whenever I choose. The flow of time is different around us and I can be at any point that has already happened.

This is how I am able to visit all of my wards. Some would say that I favor Dean, but I do not think of it that way. A lot of my wards are important to humanity's survival, it is just that Dean's life is the one more concerned with my kind and my world. But I do visit my wards. I set in motion the events that need to occur in their lives, I send them messages when they are lost, and sometimes I even visit them in their dreams.

It is easier when they are younger and they believe. As they get older and they enter the 'real' world, it gets harder to guide them. John Hamish Watson being a tricky case.

His time in Afghanistan did a lot to his mind. He saw the worst of humanity, but his soul is strong and it is courageous. John Hamish Watson had the eyes of someone who had seen too much but wanted to see more.

I liked his life. His growing up was a quiet place for me on Earth. In Heaven I enjoy an Autistic man's vision of my father's kingdom. It's a park on a windy day where he is flying a kite. John's life was normal. It was quaint. When things got complicated with Dean and Sam, I'd like to visit his life and watch him as he grew up.

He was a wonderful boy who grew into an amazing man.

He was a military man that served his country until he was forced home. He was strong willed, morally entitled, and cared greatly. Sometimes I was tempted to help John Hamish Watson by taking him away. Take him to Dean, Sam, and Bobby. They needed someone like John Hamish Watson. He was like them. He would have belong and he would have been happy with them. John's will and moral compass would fit like a puzzle piece with Dean and they could guide Sam, or vice versa. The Winchesters lives would be everything John needed in turn. Adventure and danger and all that running.

I think I've grasped the concept of irony correctly when I think that John would have lived longer had be been with the Winchesters.

But I could not take him from his life in London. It was not the way things were done, and besides, in the end...John was human. A human who had fallen in love. And in falling in love had to fall into the cycle of suffering he had been in the last decade of his life.

Again I think of myself as a father when I witness John's final decade, and even more so his final days. It pained me to see him like that and be able to do nothing. Life was precious but after spending time with Dean and Sam and seeing first hand of what true humanity is, I could not take John to heaven fast enough. I never wished a good mans death, but the suffering John's soul was enduring was what can be considered torture.

After being sent home from the war because of his shoulder John was in a rut. I watched him do the same routine over and over again. He was miserable. That doctor he was seeing wasn't helping him much, but then again I do not really understand her purpose. She was supposed to help John understand what he had gone through was 'normal' and 'not his fault'. But John already knew that. He didn't need someone telling him things he already knew. What he needed was adventure in his life.

And so it was on that fateful day that he run into an old colleague, Mike.

Just like Anna had returned to the past to stop Sam's conception for 'the greater good' I was tempted to intervene in that meeting. Make it so John takes a different route, another street. But just like John Winchester and Mary Campbell were supposed to be together so were John Hamish Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

There have been a lot of things I have hated over the centuries, even more so recently while helping the Winchesters. Though rarely is that thing a human, but Sherlock Holmes is the exception to a lot of things it seems.

I of course knew what would happen next. It was foretold. They would move in together and John would help Sherlock on cases and solve crime that the police couldn't. They'd do random adventures, bonding, important cases, and eventually that would lead them to Moriarty. Another human which I have come to hate, but this one with and without biased of being John's angel. That man was vile.

But they beat him, and I couldn't help but make the similarities between my wards. Dean had fought against the greatest evil and thought he had lost his brother. John has fought a great evil as well and thought he lost his best friend.

Both of my wards moved on and thought that that was it, until both of their missing pieces came back. Dean had his brother back, and the game was once more started. Back to fighting evil that only they seemed capable of ridding the world of.

John has Sherlock back, and things changed. John had been his first friend and the bond they shared meant something. Eventually they gave in to whatever they were feeling and started a relationship. Even though they were both male, for some reason I think their relationship is acceptable. It is not a matter of lust(though that was a part of it) it was a matter that they were two individuals who found each other and can't live without the other. For some reason beyond their understanding, they needed the other.

Or...that's how it used to be.

They dated, John proposed, they married. Their lives were happy.

Somewhere along the way though, things changed. John tried his best to keep their relationship alive but in the end he surrendered. Something John Hamish Watson swore he would never do.

It raises the question as to what Sherlock Holmes is, to have the power to bring down, to shatter, to break the shell and harm the soul of someone as strong as John Hamish Watson.

I do not know what started it but one day their new routine started as this: John would wake up and Sherlock would already be gone. The flat would be far too quiet in his absence and John did nothing to bring any sort of noise inside. The television would be on mute, the laptop was off, and his mobile was on silent. John would get ready as fast as humanly possible and head off to work in equal silence.

His work now a days is the only thing that makes him feel alive. Somewhere along the way he switched from working on adults to working with children. He soon became the best pediatrician. Children would love telling him about their day and their lives. They'd tell him about their pets or their friends, and John would genuinely love to listen to all their stories. Those who came back drew him pictures.

John was very proud of the pictures. Some were of the stories they had told him before. Some were pictures of dreams they had had or dreams they want to come true. Some were family portraits, but the ones that touched John's heart the most were the ones of him. The children would draw a picture of a blonde man with blue eyes in a while lab coat wearing a stethoscope and holding multicolored lollipops. There would be rainbows, butterflies, and hearts in the background. Some of the kids were old enough to write themselves or some had their parents help in writing a small message.

I've seen some of these messages make John cry, but out of happiness.

" _Thank you for fixing me, Dr. Watson. You are the bestest!"_

" _You are like magic! You made it so I don't hurt anymore and made my mummy happy! Thanks a bunch!"_

" _I wanna be like you when I grow up! Nice and strong and smart and make people all over the world better!"_

It was what he saw in these children that gave John the strength to carry on one more day. In their innocence he saw the hope in humanity. In their obliviousness to the cruelty to the world he got the courage to play pretend, if only for the hours he get to be with them. In the Surgery where John Hamish Watson works is a bubble that separates him from the rest of the world and the things that were killing him inside.

Then their routine changed once more. John would be the first to get up, and get ready for the day. He would try his hardest to not awaken his husband and leave without so much a goodbye. When he begrudgingly returns to his apartment it's empty once more. It is both a relief and a stab to his heart. John Hamish Watson doesn't know how to fix this, he doesn't know the best form of attack to this problem, but it's killing him to know it continues on.

At his work there is a woman. Her name is Mary Morstan. She makes John tea every morning and that seems to be the same as apple pie is for Dean. It brings him to life some, not completely, but some. Sometimes I wish he had married her instead.

It makes me wonder if all John's should marry a Mary? Even though it ended badly for the Winchester family, the love between John Winchester and Mary Campbell was real and very strong. So strong that not even us angels were allowed to intervene and were forced to let it happened, even though it would eventually cause the Apocalypse.

The years go on and soon it starts to take it's toll on John.

He has friends but I cannot help but feel that they betrayed him in a sense. Dean often teases me because I cannot fully understand social norms, so for me to notice John's torment, how can anyone miss it? Meaning that they had seen it, but did nothing to help. They allowed John to suffer.

John and Sherlock haven't shared a proper conversation in nearly a decade. There were small words, but they were accidental. Or when the toll is affecting John particularly bad that day and Sherlock lashes out on him for 'incompetence'.

Sherlock would constantly say, "You look John, but you do not observe."

But it was Sherlock that didn't observe, or at the very least acknowledge or understand.

The wrinkles on his face that were more profound, the greys in his blonde hair, the way his blue eyes would become vacant. John was dying inside. It was on his 49th birthday, were everyone at work remembered and celebrated, even the patients, but no one else did, did John's heart break one final time.

Some people do not realize that it is possible to die of a broken heart. It's just that it's a long tormenting process that people let the signs pass them by. They resign themselves, they pull back. They become dead inside and the heart grows numb. It's the brain that keeps the body alive then. It goes into automatic.

Keep the heart beating: thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump

Keep the lungs working: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale

There has to be a link between the heart and the brain. The heart telling the brain that it's still there, to keep reminding the brain to keep working. But when the heart shatters and the link is severed, it sends one final message to the brain.

Stop.

So the brain does just that. No more blood is circulating. No more beating from the heart, no more breathing from the lungs.

When your heart breaks to this extent, and you lose the will to live, it sends a message. From the heart, to the brain, to the heavens.

.:~*~:.

I was with Sam and Dean when I felt a pull. One of my wards needed me. Without a goodbye or warning I leave Sam and Dean and arrive at 221B.

The apartment was dark and quiet, just like it had been for a nearly the last decade. It was so alone I could have been fooled that this had long been abandoned.

The feeling of human dread enter me and I close my eyes and sigh. With my eyes closed I could hear the sounds that rebel against the painful lonely silence.

The drip drip drip from the rain outside.

The tick-tock tick-tock of the clock somewhere in the apartment.

Footsteps coming from the stairs as John enters. He's tired. He's empty. He's surrendered.

He looks at the apartment with vacant eyes. He's so close to death that I believe he can see me somewhat. Not completely, but enough to think that there is a presence here. He looks up at the ceiling, the way the people look at the heavens. I believe he knows.

He walks up to his bedroom and puts his things away. He showers and lays in bed.

I stand in the living room and feel another presence next to me.

"Death," I greeted as the older entity arrived.

"Castiel," Death greets in turn.

"So it will happen tonight?" I ask.

"Yes. As his final night I believe you are allowed to remove his misery," Death says.

I nod and ask, "When?"

"At 2:35 AM," Death answers and I go to John's side.

The night that people die, they claim to their love ones that there is no pain that night. It is an act of mercy by their angels. It is when we are finally allowed to intervene in cases like these. I cannot erase what he has gone through, I cannot turn time back for him, at his final moment, I can just be at his side and take away all the pain.

I place two fingers on his forehead and he sighs contently in his sleep. Tonight his dreams will be pleasant. All pain, physical, psychological, or emotional is nonexistent for him.

I stand at his bedside until the time Death mentioned.

Somewhere in-between Sherlock arrives home and gets into bed with John, back facing my ward. I frown but say nothing, not that I could speak with Sherlock. John will have peace soon.

At 2:35 in the morning Death places a light touch on John Hamish Watson and his soul rises from his body. Death disappears and goes to his next client. Leaving me with John. Normally reapers would take the soul to where they belong, but as his angel, I have a choice to do so if I wish.

"This is it then?" John asked.

"Yes." I reply.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"I am Castiel. Angel of the Lord. I have come to take you to Heaven," I reply. I would mention that I was his guardian angel but he had suffered too much, and from what I've learned from Dean, having said what I was would have displeased John. And right now that is the last thing I wanted to do. It's not lying, it's just not answering an unasked question.

John looks at the bed where his corpse is lying still. His chest isn't rising and falling, there are no sounds coming from him, he's paler and he runs a hand through his own body and it goes through. Then he looks over at the other body.

"I stayed because I promised him I wouldn't leave...even after the love disappeared, I stayed. Did you know he's cheating on me? Is there something wrong with me for not minding? There has to be something wrong with me..."

"There is not," I say.

He looks back at me and asks me, "I was in a lot of pain a few hours ago. Now...the pain is gone. Is this going to last?"

"Yes. Heaven awaits you...no pain can reach you there," I promise.

He looks back at Sherlock, "I shouldn't be happy I'm leaving him...and I'm not. I'm just so very tired."

"It is time to go John." I say.

He nods and takes my offered hand. I take us to heaven where I enter his personal vision.

It's a beach.

The skies are clear with only a few puffy white clouds ideal for cloud watching. The sun is warm and the breeze is cooling. The ocean is calm and the sand is warm, but not overly hot. The grass beyond the sand is tall and cool and very green.

Heaven changes to whatever the soul and heart wish. Sometimes those who die first appear in a quaint scene like this to calm their soul. Later when the soul is rested and reassured that the pain is gone, their heaven will transform to something different. Recreate the most important people in their living days, and live their lives perfectly.

"May I ask, why a beach?" I asked.

John removed his shoes and walks down the beach until the water reaches him. He wiggles his toes and smiles. I walk next to him and he turns to me and answers, "It's the place were two worlds meet. The consistent and tough land and the wild untamed sea. And the result is a beautiful beach...not a chaotic disaster."

I knew he was referring to himself and Sherlock, but I had nothing to say to offer comfort. We turn and watch as the ocean meets the sand. Time in heaven is different than time on earth. It could have been minutes, or it could have been months, but it was pleasant. I turn to him once more and ask, "Would it be alright if I visit sometimes?"

He smiles but doesn't turn as he says, "I'd hope my guardian angel would visit me."

Even though it does take me by surprise remembering the incredible man that stands before me I shouldn't have been. I don't bother to ask how he knows. It's just one of the things that is John Hamish Watson. Instead I say, "I am sorry."

One of the many reasons why I like John is because he understands. Somehow when it comes to other people, no matter who they are, what they've done, where they've been, or who has been in their lives to influence them, John understands the person in front of him. Maybe it was a gift my father had given John, or maybe it was his curse. Wasn't it his understanding of Sherlock Holmes what attracted him to the fire, wasn't it the reassurance that he could handle the flame, before it roared into an untamed monster that burned John into the unrecognizable shell his corpse had become?

"Don't be. I don't fully understand how things work up here. I don't know what you were allowed to do or not to. I saw some of the smaller signs...or at least thinking back I saw the other options that had been opened to me. But it was me who chose the path I did. But I felt you there. In the silence...when everyone else left me alone. You were there, right?"

I didn't reply, just nodded.

"Thank you," he says.

"I could have done more. I should have," I say.

He shakes his head, "No matter what happened...I can't bring myself to change anything. I would do it all again if I could. I'd willingly go back to all the bad moments, if only to repeat the good ones. I'm just a man...I'm just human. Going through all that is the purest form of humanity as it gets...and it was worth it. But seriously Castiel...thank you. It means more than you can ever know that I wasn't truly alone."

I had no reply to that and it seemed like he didn't expect one. He's staring at the ocean once more. His eyes are vacant, but this time not with misery. All of his memories and love are resurfacing. They're fixing his soul and preparing his personal heaven.

This wasn't a battle so there was no need for any final words. This also wasn't goodbye. I'll be back to visit him. And for once in a very long time, the silence that I leave John Hamish Watson in isn't suffocating.

.:~*~:.

Spending a lot of time with Dean and Sam, walking among humans while searching for my father, and even as my time as Emmanuel, I've developed more human feelings and instincts. Normally that's dangerous. Something that wasn't born human to acquire human traits can be disastrous. Mostly with human curiosity mixed with human hatred and jealousy. Since those things weren't born human control is even more nonexistent and can be fatal.

But my time on earth has affected me, but with people like Dean, Sam, Bobby, and John I believe I am good. I've done horrible things but I have repented and my friends have forgiven me.

Human curiosity plagued me though. Sherlock Holmes had been the most important person in John's life. I wondered about Sherlock's reaction to John's corpse. At one point in time, John had been just as important to Sherlock as Sherlock to John.

Going back to that morning I step into their bedroom. John's body is so still, so pale, so at peace. I can't help the small smile knowing that John's soul is in heaven healing.

John's alarm clock goes off and when Sherlock realizes John's not moving to turn it off he does it himself. Making a noise to show his annoyance. He gets up and does his own morning routine seeing that John isn't moving to start his.

It wasn't until it almost became 9, the time that John should be at work, that Sherlock realizes that something is wrong. Whatever happened between them, John's work was all the doctor had left. He was never late. Ever.

Coming back into the bedroom Sherlock stands in the doorway and observes John's body. It's then that I see his eyes widen and hear his breath hitch. But even though he has the data, it seems his mind refuses to understand what is going on here.

I stand there and watch as minutes ticked by before Sherlock walks up to the bed and nudges John's shoulder. There is obviously no response. The shy awkward nudges become rougher until Sherlock straddles John and shakes him violently. I almost want to step in and stop him, but I stay in my place.

Sherlock screams at John's lifeless body, making threats, promises, bargains, and pleas until his voice is horse and he can't even talk anymore. Tears fall freely from his eyes and he buries himself into John's chest. He's mumbling something that I need to get closer to hear.

"You promised John...you promised you wouldn't leave me...wake up John...please wake up...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...please don't be dead...please just let this be a horrible lesson you're trying to teach me..."

John of course doesn't reply and Sherlock buries himself as deep as he could and weeps. Then he gets under the duvet and wraps John's arm around him and he hugs John back tightly.

The night continues with Sherlock mumbling promises of his change if John would wake up. But no matter what impossible promise Sherlock made, no matter how flattering or ideal his words sounded, they fell on death ears, as well as mine. John was my ward, not Sherlock, so I could do nothing. I couldn't ease his pain, I couldn't take the sadness away. I also couldn't pity him or sympathize with him.

I return to Dean and Sam in America. I've really been gone a few weeks, but to them it was a few days. They ask what I've been up to and I reply with some business in heaven. With everything they have to deal with on earth, as long as it's not a danger to them, they don't care about heaven just yet.

A few days later I decide to see what happened to John's body. I arrived a few morning after the night Sherlock realized John was dead to see an old woman lead a man in a suit and umbrella into their apartment with other men in suits.

They pry Sherlock away from John with force. Sherlock screams and thrashes and tells them all the horrible ways he'll kill them if they don't let him return to John.

But the man with the umbrella wasn't phased. His men held on to Sherlock as a team of medics come in and take John away. One of the medics passes a syringe to the man with the umbrella and he uses it on Sherlock. It's a sedative.

Before I leave I hear the man with the umbrella say, "I'm sorry brother. He's gone..."

.:~*~:.

I visit John every chance I get. He's someone I enjoy talking with. I assumed that when his soul settled he'd choose a moment or time from his adulthood to be his heaven. According to him however it was either too boring or too painful. So a lot of the times I visit him he's in his child form. Some times he relives his high school days, and on rare occasions his heart can handle a small dose of Sherlock.

.:~*~:.

Normally when my wards are in heaven that's it. My job is finished, but not with John Hamish Watson. No, he always stood out. I still visit him every Thursday, the day of his birth, my day. Some Thursdays my curosity gets the best of me and I return to 221B Backer Street. I don't know what I expect to find.

For the first year it was nothing but darkness and silence. Dust gathered everywhere. The rain outside still made that drip drip drip sound. The clock in the living room still did the tick-tock tick-tock noise, and the silence seemed to scream from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Still, something told me that 221B wasn't finished yet. So I returned a year later on the first Thursday. Sherlock had returned home. He sits in John's chair and spends hours staring at the door. I believe he is waiting for John to come home. Every time at five ten, the time John usually got home, he would look at the clock, and then intently stare at the door.

Hours would pass and he wouldn't move. It was almost frightening. Then at ten at night he would stand and make himself some tea. Earl Grey, John's tea. He'd use John's favorite cup and handle it with utmost care. He'd shower with John's shampoo and soap and then put on one of John's jumpers. He'd take random big whiffs before going into the bedroom. He'd go to the counter and pick up a bottle of cologne and stray it over the room. John's scent. He'd lay on top of the covers and hug John's pillow to his chest. He'd close his eyes and breathe in deeply.

Then he'd cried himself to sleep, always the last words he says being, "Goodnight John...I'm so sorry."

My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord. My duties are to serve my father's will and to guard and guide the children of Thursday. Sometimes I can protect them and send them on the right path and they live good lives. Sometimes too much has happened that all I can do is silently be there and give them the feeling that despite how they feel they aren't alone. Sometimes I can't even do that, but wait until it is time to take them to my father's kingdom. There have been many Thursday's and many children.

John Hamish Watson always stood out despite how average he was. And it was through him that I vowed to watch over his other half, Sherlock Holmes. Child of Saturday.


End file.
